


on my way home

by prosodiical



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: By the time they find Newt in Nurmengard, he's pale enough to be almost blue, shivering without surcease, his eyes clouded and confused.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [на пути домой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485528) by [Greenmusik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenmusik/pseuds/Greenmusik)



> For the kinkmeme prompt [here](http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1184.html?thread=1635488#cmt1635488):  
> For whatever reason Newt is soaked to the bone, barely conscious, temperatures are below freezing and apparition is not a viable option.
> 
> I just want Graves and Theseus trying to keep Newt alive and warm until help arrives. Maybe some cuddling and sexy times (just Graves/Newt in this case if that is more your cup of tea) after the scare is over.
> 
> \+ 1 Newt being carried bridal style...because...why not? Okay...huge kink of mine.  
> \+ 1000000 Naked Newt wrapped up in Graves' coat at one point.

By the time they find Newt in Nurmengard, it's almost too late.

Grindelwald's wards are too much for Theseus to break, even with Percival by his side, his wand spinning uselessly at every _point me_ and every single tracking spell Theseus can think of sizzling out without a chance. They're lucky, Theseus knows, that they even know Newt's here, that Theseus got an O in Divination and dragged out old family tomes for blood-based scrying, that Theseus even knew Newt was missing because Percival had sent him a Patronus, silver and shining, with some of the worst news of Theseus's life.

By the time they find Newt in Nurmengard, he's pale enough to be almost blue, shivering without surcease, his eyes clouded and confused.

"Newt," Theseus says, "oh, Merlin, Newt - " and he stumbles forward, presses his hands to Newt's face. Newt's head lifts, just a bit, and he stares at Theseus blankly. "Fuck, he's soaked, do you have - "

"Here," Percival says, as Theseus coaxes Newt up, holding him tightly by the waist. Theseus catches the waistcoat and tie in his free hand as he leads Newt to a dry part of the room, and looks up from unbuttoning Newt's cold, damp shirt to see Percival shucking his winter coat. "Have your heating enchantments held up?"

Theseus, down to his shirtsleeves, wraps his arm around Newt's bare waist as he works at Newt's trousers. "Not as well as I'd like," he says, as he sits Newt gently down on the small pile of dry, warm clothing they've accumulated. "The one on my coat's... well, it's patchy." He'd been planning to get it fixed, but kept putting it off; now, Theseus swears, he won't let that ever happen again. "C'mon, Newt," he murmurs, "here we go."

Without a stitch of clothing Newt looks, arguably, even worse; his shivers are large and jerky, so much that Theseus wants to hold on to him tight and never let go. He drops his shirt and his coat over Newt's shoulders, and then slides in underneath him so they're plastered together, skin to skin, wrapping layers around them both.

Percival's coat lands on their heads, and Theseus tugs it around them and raises his eyebrows at Percival, still fiddling with his shirt buttons. "Come here," Theseus says, "we can use all the warmth we can get."

Newt's fingers and toes and arms and legs feel like ice, but Theseus thinks the warmth of lingering charms and body heat are starting to help. Theseus sticks his nose into the junction of Newt's neck and shoulder, exhales air warmer than Newt's skin, and says, again, "Percy."

"I'm coming," Percival says, heaving a sigh. Newt's still shivering, but in smaller, sharper bursts by the time Percival's hand lands on his shoulder, and Newt's jerk of his head is a little more conscious than instinct.

Teeth chattering, Newt manages, "T-Theseus?"

"Yes, sweetheart, it's me." Theseus presses his hands to Newt's cheeks, can feel his chest ache at the way Newt blinks and his eyes focus and his breath catches in his throat. "It's all right, please don't cry, Newt, you know what happens when you cry. You'll make me cry, too, and I get all blotchy."

"And no one wants to see that," Percival says, his voice soft for the words, and Newt twists his head and blinks up at him like he's a surprise. Percival sinks to the floor, pressing his face into Newt's hair, and Theseus exhales shakily and smiles.

"W-what happened?" Newt asks. "I - I thought I was..."

"Grindelwald," Theseus says succinctly, exchanging a glance with Percival over Newt's head. "Percy told me."

"We had reports that he ambushed you," Percival explains, keeping his voice quiet and slow. "And we were supposed to meet for lunch, Newt, do you remember?"

Newt shakes his head, but it turns into an uncontrollable shiver that makes Theseus tighten his grip, wonder where their backup might be now. "I," Newt tries, and Theseus presses his fingers to Newt's lips, says, "Hush, you," in as light a voice he can manage. "Percy, be nice, that's my little brother you're interrogating."

Newt blinks at him, and Theseus gets the slightest twitch of his smile.

"As if I could forget," Percival says; there's a strain in his face that doesn't leak through to his voice, a strain Theseus feels down to his bones. Then, to Newt: "But when you didn't show up I thought something was wrong, and we found out Grindelwald had taken you somewhere. Taken you here."

"Revenge, I think," Theseus says. He hadn't been worried enough about it before, it's clear. "We'll have to talk about that, Newt, I can't have you traipsing all over the world with a dark lord wanting your hide, at least not alone. Even in New York - well, Percy'll have to fall on that sword, I think, he needs to take better care of you - "

"Theseus," Percival says, with the twist of his mouth that means he knows exactly what Theseus is doing. "If anyone's been slacking off here, I don't think it's me."

"Have you even been feeding him?" Theseus says, offering Newt a conspiratorial grin. "I swear he's lost more than half a stone - "

"If he weren't busy on errands _you_ keep giving him - do you even know what he says? 'Oh, Theseus told me there was a rougarou smuggling operation down in New Mexico, I just have to go' - "

"Which wouldn't matter if you went _with_ him on the smuggling operation, Merlin, Percy, you're an Auror, what's that even for - "

Newt laughs, sounding startled by it. "T-Theseus," he says, "s-stop haranguing him, y-you monster."

Theseus heaves an overwrought sigh, but he's smiling when he looks down at Newt, and Percival looks - better, more settled in his skin. "D'you know when our backup should get here?"

"Half-an-hour from the outside," Percival says. "If I had my pocketwatch..."

Theseus glances down at the cushioning pile of clothes. "Bad luck. At least it's not the Niffler. You never did get that watch back, did you?"

"A-are they all - " Newt asks, and Theseus meets his gaze and nods.

"All your creatures are fine," Percival says. "I left your case with the Goldstein's - they promised they would look after it."

Newt exhales, shivering, into Theseus's shoulder. "T-thank you."

"What have I told you about thanking people for things they should have been doing anyway?" Theseus sighs. "You're incorrigible, Newt."

"Are you really trying to train his manners _out_ of him?" Percival says dryly, and Theseus gives him a tired grin. "Don't listen to him, Newt, and you're very welcome."

They stay like that for a while, pressed skin to skin. Newt's fingers and toes slowly become less blue, his circulation returning with the colour on his cheeks, as Theseus keeps up a stream of meaningless conversation while Percival occasionally interjects. Theseus knows Percival feels the drop of the wards as soon as he does; they both stop for a moment, still. It feels like a warmth Theseus didn't realise he'd been missing, and he summons his wand from his coat absently as Percival starts to rise to his feet again. Newt says, "P-Percival?" and Theseus exchanges a glance with him.

"You should leave him your coat. Our backup's here now, Newt, so we can get you home and properly warm."

Warming charms come easily, though with the way Newt's still shivering they need to be careful, precise, heating from the inside out. Theseus renews his own as he pulls on his clothes again, keeping an eye on Percival carefully winding his coat around Newt's slim, bare form, Newt's own movements to help stiff and uncoordinated. Percival says, "You meet with them, I'll take Newt?"

"Yes," Theseus says, "I think that'll be best."

Percival bends down to pick up Newt, one arm under his legs and one around his back, and Newt, shivering still, leans into his chest, his eyelids drooping. "I'll take care of him," Percival says, as he notices Theseus watching.

"I know," Theseus says, "but still. Be careful." He gives them one last lingering glance before heading out the door.

With his tracking spells up again, it's a matter of minutes before he finds the rest of their backup, an eclectic mix of Aurors, mostly American, that Percival managed to pull together for the search-and-rescue. They spend an hour searching the fortress for others, but it seems like Grindelwald came here, dropped Newt and left; why, Theseus isn't sure, at least until he hears a report from one of his own who says Grindelwald's been sighted at a rally in Washington - he must have had an appointment to keep. Theseus can't be annoyed by it, not when it means Newt's spent less time under that madman's wand not when it means Newt's safe.

By the time he Apparates back, it's dark. Percival's wards accept him when he rests his palm on the doorknob, and from there's it's only the challenge of navigating by the low _lumos_ of his wand and the streetlight through the closed curtains. He drops the light when he finds them, curled up together under a pile of blankets in Percival's bed. Theseus leans down to press a gentle kiss to Newt's shoulder, bare and pale in the dim light, his pyjamas endearingly too large. Newt murmurs something in his sleep, catches Theseus's wrist with a finally-warm hand, and Theseus looks past him to Percival, watching Newt with something soft and private in his dark eyes. Quiet, just above a whisper, Percival says, "Grindelwald?"

"Missed him," Theseus says, equally quiet, "but he'll show up again."

Newt mumbles, "Theseus," like he did as a child, syllables slurring into one another, and tugs weakly at Theseus's wrist.

"You've been told," Percival murmurs, his smile a shadow in the dark, and when Theseus changes and slides into the bed, Percival reaches out to Theseus's hand on Newt's hip, tangling their fingers together. There, cocooned by warmth and the wonder of Newt's body heat, his breathing steady, his shivering gone, there, Theseus sleeps.


End file.
